


Behind Closed Doors

by loveandallthat



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, Mental Health Issues, Reconciliation, Relationship Discussions, endgame jack/parse or bust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-15 21:21:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10557890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveandallthat/pseuds/loveandallthat
Summary: It’s just a tabloid. Nobody’s going to believe it anyway; it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Jack can tell himself any one of these things a thousand times and he’s never going to believe them.Confirmed: Kent Parson Las Vegas Aces’ First Choice All AlongIt doesn’t even help that the last line is, “When asked for comment, Kent Parson said, ‘Who even cares anymore?’”





	

**Author's Note:**

> No beta. PLEASE tell me if you see any mistakes.
> 
> I wanted to write a fic about timing, about public versus private personas/relationships, about lying, adapting, learning and growing. About how everyone has their own reasons and just does their best with what they have.  
> And I got mad at canon and twisted it a little.
> 
> Also, I am equal parts Jack Zimmermann and Kent Parson, in that I like nice watches and can’t let go of people, and also I briefly sabotaged my own life and had to fall behind to rebuild it. But what are you gonna do?

_Confirmed: Kent Parson Las Vegas Aces’ First Choice All Along_

_Hockey fans still remember the iconic and controversial 2009 draft, where Kent Parson and Jack Zimmermann were among the top picks. But new information has surfaced from a disgruntled assistant, that the Aces always intended for things to play out how they did._

_This is quite a shock to those who thought that Jack Zimmerman, son of “Bad Bob” Zimmermann, was destined to take the number one spot that year, until one mistake ruined everything._

_“When asked for comment, Kent Parson said, “Who even cares anymore?”_

\---

Jack knows that Kent is usually really good at handling the media, no matter how much they get in his face. That’s the second most notable thing about this supposed news story, him losing his charm for a moment. Kent’s right, anyway, who cares if he was always going to be the first choice in the draft?

In, out.

Hockey news is slower in July; this probably would have been glossed right over a few months ago. It _will_ be old news soon enough.

Jack’s at home with his parents, and it’s easy to guess that’s where he might be. But at the same time, it’s not really worth it to go looking for him--Kent had been asked during a different, already scheduled interview about the upcoming season. Jack isn’t scheduled for any, and now he’s even less inclined to change that.

His phone rings with an unknown number; he ignores it.

Jack knows he should get up now. It’s already much later than his norm, and it’ll be too hot to run soon. Plus, his parents will definitely know something is up if he strays from his routine.

The phone rings again. It’s Bitty, and Jack turns his phone facedown on his bed and finally gets to his feet, throws on his running clothes, and goes out the door right before he knows his dad’s alarm is set to go off.

He takes a longer path than usual but keeps up his pace so he’s breathing pretty heavily when he’s done, and needs a longer cooldown as well. He’s home much later than normal, but his mom doesn’t say anything about it, just greets him and offers to make him eggs. He accepts, but only because he knows that he’ll feel pretty shitty if he doesn’t eat after that workout.

Jack stays in the shower for ten extra minutes, letting the water wash over himself and not really moving. He steps into his room, toweling off his hair distractedly.

His phone rings and it’s Kent. He turns it off.

\---

_Jack Zimmermann could not be reached for comment._

\---

Jack doesn’t turn his phone on until the next day, and he doesn’t go online for anything else, reading and talking to his parents more than usual. He knows that they know, and maybe they think that he doesn’t, yet--Jack being out of the loop wouldn’t be a surprise to anyone.

A day is all he really manages to hold off, though. That afternoon, he looks at the news sites, but they haven’t posted anything new. No, it’s the fansites that are having a field day. The main idea is that it’s suspicious that Kent is being so dismissive of something that was a huge deal “only a few years ago,” which makes Jack snort. It was such a long time ago, and they’re both so different now. At least, he assumes. Kent has been pretty much the same with Jack every time they’ve talked since--since, but his life has drastically changed, and it’s safe to assume that he has with it.

Besides, the Kent who visited Jack to try to drag him back to his old life was much different than the Kent Jack knew before the draft.

Either way, they’re both so far past this, so why does everyone want to make it out to be a big deal?

The season starts, and Jack can’t avoid an interview.

“I know it’s been a while since this came out,” the interview starts, and it’s more awkwardness than media training that keeps Jack from rolling his eyes or groaning, or something equally inappropriate. He lets the question be finished.

“Of course it doesn’t bother me,” he answers, after a beat. “Obviously I was in a bad place back then, but I’m happy where I am now. There’s no point dwelling on the past.”

“And Kent Parson?”

Jack waits in vain to see if this turns into a real question. “All this means is that he ended up where he should have all along. And seeing the Aces play, it’s hard to argue that. They’re going to be a tough opponent this year, too.”

Bringing conversations back to hockey is Jack’s specialty.

“Thank you for your time.”

Jack doesn’t remember practice very well, after that.

\---

_Kent Parson and Jack Zimmermann still tight-lipped about their rivalry, past and present._

\---

They should have known that telling someone it isn’t a big deal is the perfect way to make them think it’s a huge deal. Everyone who had finally quieted down after Kent’s interview is talking again, the same theories that now Jack is being too defensive. And now it’s gotten to Jack’s friends from Samwell, too, thinly veiled concern in their texts as they all mysteriously reach out to him to catch up in the same week.

Jack still tries to respond, even when he has no idea what to say. He’d like to keep his friends if possible. Plus, Dex’s message says, “Sorry everyone is messaging you. And that I’m included in that by messaging you this,” and it makes Jack laugh. It unclenches something in him enough that he picks up the phone to call Bitty.

It still hurts to think about their breakup, mostly because Jack knows that it was his own fault that they didn’t work out. He wasn’t what Bitty needed, and it felt like the nicer option to end things before he had to figure that out on his own.

Worse still is the sinking feeling that he had always known Bitty wasn’t what he needed, either, as anything more than a friend.

Bitty picks up by saying, “Hold on,” and there’s a lot of commotion in the background. Jack hears a door close, then Bitty says, “hey, Jack.”

“Hi, Bits.”

“I thought maybe you didn’t want everyone to know that I was talking to you.”

Jack had realized that, but maybe it didn’t matter. “They probably already figured it out.”

“Sorry. How many people have already texted you?” Bitty asks.

“Everyone, pretty much,” Jack answers. “It’s nice.”

“Oh. I was worried people were bothering you.” Bitty sounds surprised.

“It’s kind of like living at the Haus again, everyone in your business. I didn’t realize how much I missed it.” Jack realizes this is true as soon as he says it. As much as his personality screams “loner,” he really does do better when he’s surrounded by people who care about him as a person.

_“Why wasn’t I enough?” Kent had asked, and Jack didn’t know; that was the problem._

_“People can’t fix each other,” his therapist had said, and if that was the case, why was he seeing a therapist?_

_“Brah, we need to throw water balloons at the LAX bros_ right now _,” Shitty had said. Bitty told him he loved him; Ransom and Holster tackled either side of him after a great win. And gradually, he felt better. If it wasn’t the people, what was it?_

_“This was you,” his therapist answered._

_Yeah right, Jack thought._

“I’m glad,” Bitty responds, sounding sincere. “You’ve probably been asked already, but, are you OK?”

Jack likes that Bitty’s concern prevents him from beating around the bush, if nothing else. It makes him more honest than with anybody else. “Yeah. But I mean... I always wondered. But it’s been years, and I’m in a good place now.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Bitty says, “But I just thought it might… bring things back.”

Bitty knows about this more than anybody; he heard the true story from Jack instead of the rumors. Jack had a lot of trouble talking about it and Bitty was patient and understanding and didn’t judge, so gradually Jack told him things that he’d never confessed to anyone the details of his feelings of inadequacy at the time--things people like his parents or Kent probably could have guessed, but things he never told them outright.

“A little,” Jack admits. “I can remember how I felt back then again, but it doesn’t hurt as much.”

“That’s great,” Bitty encourages, and Jack reminds himself not to doubt his sincerity--he and Bitty have long since stopped lying to each other, even though they weren’t together anymore.

“It’s an improvement,” Jack concedes, then changes the subject. “How’s the team this year, Captain?”

Bitty laughs. “I knew you’d never fully be able to let go of your captain habits. I’m nervous all the time, of course, but they’re doing great. We have some really promising new forwards.”

“I’m sure they have nothing on you, Bits,” Jack says, remembering two years ago--not their last game, but the ones leading up to it. He remembers the exact moment, the exact _pass_ that had convinced him his dad was right, that Bitty made him play better. And Bitty probably didn’t even understand what that meant to him.

“You’re too nice, Mr. Zimmermann,” Bitty deflects, but the tone of his voice is too similar to late-night phone calls last year, and Jack needs to get out of the conversation.

“You’re one to talk. I’ve got to go, but I’ll talk to you later, OK? Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Bitty says. He sounds a little dejected and it hurts knowing it’s Jack’s fault.

Jack takes a moment after hanging up to close his eyes, press his phone to his forehead and breathe before he moves on with his day. He brings it back to eye level and checks the rest of his missed calls, clearing the notifications as he heads downstairs to go for a walk with his mom. He can hear it ringing again as they shut the front door.

\---

_Players to watch this season include latecomer and legacy Jack Zimmermann and leading scorer, Stanley-Cup winning captain, Kent Parson, especially when their teams finally face each other on the ice._

\---

The Falconers start the season on a winning streak, until it’s broken by the Aces, in Vegas.

Kent scores the last goal; he scores all of them. Jack’s on top of his game, more than ever, and Kent’s still better. He can just imagine someone, with a captain’s voice--maybe even his father, or maybe himself from two years ago--saying you don’t play against individuals, you play against teams. That’s not how it feels tonight, though, as he watches Kent get positively mobbed.

There’s no reason to assume that Kent is home instead of out celebrating, and Jack really shouldn’t be going out knowing how early they’re leaving in the morning. He shows up at Kent’s anyway.

Jack doesn’t knock, just stands outside for about fifteen minutes before Kent gets home and sees him there. He looks tired, but he still looks really good. A lack of attraction had never been the problem with their relationship.

Kent sighs. “Seriously?” he asks, and Jack almost wants to laugh. No, he’d shown up here as a practical joke. Haha, fell for it.

“Can I come in?” he asks instead, and Kent just answers by holding the door open until Jack gets with the program.

“You could have just answered my calls,” Kent says. He opens his fridge and hands Jack a water bottle, and Jack bites back all of his college life comments about the environment and just opens it and takes a sip, grateful for something to do with his hands. He shrugs. He could have answered them, but obviously he didn’t, and now here they are. They were supposed to be focusing on the future and not the past, anyway, he thinks, sitting on the couch.

Once he realizes Jack has no further answer to that, Kent drops down next to him, though there’s plenty of room.

“Good talk,” he jokes.

“Sorry,” Jack says suddenly, surprising himself. “I don’t actually have anything to say.”

Kent looks at him like he used to, for a moment. Jack once asked him what that look meant and Kent had said, “You’re a total fucking mystery, Zimms.” Jack didn’t believe him back then. That was when Kent knew him better than anyone, except what he was hiding.

It makes a lot more sense today, in this situation.

Mercifully, Kent turns on the TV and switches it away from the game highlights almost immediately. It hits Jack that he’s in Kent Parson’s apartment, watching him change the channel away from a clip of him playing hockey. He still hasn’t really internalized how famous Kent is, that it’s not just Jack in the spotlight anymore, that this Kent Parson next to him, with the same voice and eyes, is the same guy who’s been all over every sports channel and magazine for the past seven years.

Jack’s not starstruck, really hasn’t had that feeling before, but this return to normality really emphasizes the difference between who Jack saw before the draft and who he sees in interviews and games. Jack wonders, selfishly, if this is how the guys on the SMH team felt, even though they had the reverse experience.

Kent doesn’t kick him out, doesn’t ask what he’s doing there. It looks like he’s just going through a normal routine, but Jack wouldn’t really know anymore. He changes into a t-shirt and sweatpants, and comes back. At some point he pours himself a drink, pauses, and pours another one, which he places on the table in front of Jack, unobtrusively. Jack takes it and sips.

Then Kent looks over again. “Anything to say now?” he asks. It sounds like a real question, like Jack’s allowed to say no. It sounds so tired and resigned.

“Good game?” Jack tries, and Kent scoffs. Jack gives in. “Thanks,” he says.

“Um, for what?”

“What you said about the draft.”

The realization dawns on Kent’s face. “I didn’t do that for you; I was just being honest.”

“I know. That’s why I was thanking you,” Jack explains.

“Well, you didn’t completely shit on me when they finally asked you, either, so at least our stories matched up.” It’s not a thanks, but Jack doesn’t really deserve one.

“‘Our stories’,” Jack jokes, “I thought you said you were being honest.”

Kent just looks at him like he’s dumb, and Jack realizes Kent thought Jack was the one lying. “Oh. I meant what I said, too,” Jack says.

“Sure,” Kent replies, sounding unconvinced.

“I didn’t come here to fight,” Jack warns, and Kent rolls his eyes.

“You really think I want to fight with you, Zimms?” No, Jack doesn’t think that. He thinks Kent just wants Jack to agree with everything he says. So he doesn’t really know what he’s doing here.

“No, sorry,” he says, standing up to leave.

Kent jumps up and stands between Jack and the door. “Wait. We should talk sometimes. At least if the media starts bringing up stories about both of us.”

That sounds fine, and even logical--that should worry Jack, because he and Kent have never made any sense. “OK,” he agrees anyway.

\---

_Providence Falconers struggle to recover after devastating loss at the hands of the Las Vegas Aces. Captain Kent Parson says, “The teamwork was just there tonight.”_

\---

The Aces make it into the playoffs again--but come out on top this time. The Falconers lose in the semifinals, don’t get the chance to face off against the Aces in the postseason. That’s when every once in a while, a comment slips in about what could have been, but it explodes again the day after the Aces win the Cup.

\---

_Falconers miss chance to face Aces again, leaving possible tension between old rivals Kent Parson and Jack Zimmermann, who was unavailable for comment._

\---

Jack has a panic attack a few weeks later, still in Providence; he picks up his phone and opens his recent contacts and misses Bitty’s name and hits Kent’s. Kent is surprised but he counts aloud for Jack to follow and it’s not perfect but it’s good enough.

“Sorry,” Jack groans, when he can speak.

“Call me by accident again?” Kent teases. Jack’s not quite sure if that’s actually what happened, so he doesn’t answer.

“I’m fine now,” he says instead.

“Are you, though? I didn’t think this was still happening.”

“I might always have them,” Jack says, answering the unasked question. “Even when I’m mostly doing well.”

“I still don’t like it,” Kent says.

“You don’t have to like it.”

Kent’s silent on the other end, but Jack waits him out. “I’m coming there,” Kent announces.

“You don’t have to--” Jack starts.

“But _can_ I?” Kent interrupts.

“I mean, yeah, if you want,” Jack says, not really sure why he would want to.

“I’ll get a flight for tomorrow and text you the details. Pick me up at the airport.”

Jack stares at his phone for a long time after they hang up, until the date catches his eye. It’s July 3rd.

Of course Kent can’t get a flight that quick to PVD so he shows up in Boston, and Jack gets them a hotel room downtown so they can stay in the city. Partly because there’s more to do, but a little because Jack is afraid to let someone into his space, let them get a glimpse of his routine.

Jack waits in arrivals for Kent to get into his car, and when he gets in and settled, he says, “Happy birthday.”

There’s a flash of pleased surprise across Kent’s face, and even though he hides it again, he says, “I didn’t think you’d remember.”

“Honestly, I don’t think it’s possible to be in America and forget your birthday,” Jack says.

“If we’re being honest, I just assumed you didn’t think about me at all,” Kent shoots back. Jack can’t quite temper his expression quickly enough.

“It wasn’t you I was trying not to think about,” he corrects, staring straight ahead.

Kent doesn’t say anything until they take the exit for downtown Boston, and even then it’s just, “where are we going?”

“Our hotel,” Jack answers, knowing he’s being vague out of pettiness.

“Boston for the Fourth of July?” Kent asks.

“Boston for Kent Parson’s birthday,” he corrects.

Mercifully, Kent waits until they’ve checked into their room before he turns on Jack to remind him, “You know I’m just here for you.”

Jack looks up at Kent, the dark shape against the sunlight streaming in through the twenty-first floor windows. He has to squint. “I know.”

They both have at least a passing familiarity with Boston, no places they want to go that they haven’t been yet, but they walk and enjoy the parties that are already taking place, bar crawls meaning that they have to display their IDs as they enter popular college bars, and once their names are seen, a trip to a bar turns into a photo op as the bartender reads their names aloud in a show of shortsightedness.

“I didn’t know you guys still hung out,” one guy comments, and Jack bites back a, neither did I.

He tries not to drink too much, even when people keep offering to buy them for him. At one point Kent motions for the bartender to talk to him alone for a second, and then Jack starts only getting what he actually orders. Jack doesn’t even know what Kent said and he still feels dumb for not having thought of it, but there are things that Kent has always been better at.

“We’re leaving,” Kent says suddenly, to Jack and the guy who was talking to him at the bar. Jack is all too willing to get them a cab back to the hotel and to walk mostly steadily toward the room, bumping into Kent more than usual.

Kent sits down on the bed he’s claimed and puts his head in his hands, just for a moment. He looks up again. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, like he already knows the answer.

“It wasn’t any one thing,” Jack non-answers. “Just a bad day.”

“So I didn’t need to come?” Kent says, and it takes Jack a while to realize he’s joking.

“I’m glad you came,” he says, and it’s true. It’s complicated, but it’s true.

Kent’s answering smile is blindingly bright when he says, “Me too.”

It makes Jack weak, makes him want to confess. “You always helped.” Kent snorts at that. “I’m serious.”

“Fuck you, Jack. You don’t get to spend years ignoring me and pushing me away because you couldn’t stand to be around me, and then tell me that I _helped_ you.”

When he put it that way, it sounded pretty terrible. “That’s not what I meant. I meant back in the juniors. I would have given in so much earlier without you,” Jack whispers.

Kent stands up and paces back and forth across the room. “People can’t fix each other.”

It sounds practiced. He sounds like Jack, except that Jack only sounds like that because of his therapist. “Kenny,” he starts, and Kent stops in his tracks. “That’s not what I meant either. _I have an anxiety disorder_ . You distracted me from it sometimes, and that was great, but I can’t live my life depending on another person to _sometimes_ make me feel a little better. Obviously, since even with help, I couldn’t take it.”

“Yeah, because clearly I wasn’t enough to get you through it, but four years with your college buddies and your new boyfriend and you were ready to jump right in.”

Jack can feel his blood boiling. “It doesn’t work like that. I got to this point by slowly working through my issues in an environment that was good for me. My friends are great but it was everything I did there, combined, that helped me figure out how to deal with what’s going on in my head.”

“Well why couldn’t I have helped you then? I tried to let you have what you wanted. I tried so fucking hard. I even showed up and tried to be a part of your life your way,” Kent argues, finally collapsing back onto his bed. It brings him farther away from Jack, makes it easier to justify continuing to shout.

“You came back and reminded me of the time of my life that led up to me almost dying. Seeing you reminded me of everything I threw away. And last time, when you asked me to join the Aces? You were asking me to jump back into something that I wasn’t ready for.”

A look of realization crosses Kent’s face. “You weren’t ready to see me every day. Because I reminded you of the worst time of your entire life, and I still do.” He sounds choked up, like he’s forcing the words out.

“It’s not your fault,” Jack says, weakly. “I used to look at you and think you had the career I should have, but now I know that I did what I needed to do. That’s not what I think about when I see you anymore.”

“No, you just see some asshole who was there, oblivious, while your anxiety got worse and worse and worse.”

It hurts because it’s true, but also because there’s so much more to it. He sees someone not picking up on the clues he can’t help but leave, a trail that could be followed straight to “someone please help me” if they’d all been found and pieced together. But it’s not Kent’s fault he missed them--everyone missed them; nobody was looking for them. Jack certainly wasn’t drawing attention to them.

More than that he sees someone asking him if he wants to go pig out at cheap restaurants after practice, someone pushing him and pulling him and hands on him, hands all over. Someone teasing him during warmups and kissing him softly behind closed doors. Someone who could read his mind on the ice and next to whom he woke up five mornings in a row.

Kent had the strangest habit of dragging Jack out for coffee, ice cream, burgers, just random cravings, every time Jack was afraid he’d go home and hyperventilate the second his bedroom door was closed.

“I see someone who used to helped me eight years ago. And someone who helped me yesterday and flew across the country to check up on me. On his birthday. The rest of it, we’ll work on that.”

“You’ll work on me not being a trigger for your anxiety. Great, thanks, that’s just what I wanted to hear.” Kent puts his hat on, slips his feet into his still tied shoes and reaches for his bag.

“Please don’t leave.”

“I’ll try to get on a flight on standby or something. Don’t worry about me.”

Jack shakes his head. “If you don’t want to be around me, I can leave and you can stay here until tomorrow morning.” He has the closer bed, so he’s able to get between Kent and the door. “There won’t be any flights this late anyway.”

“Fine,” Kent says, “Leave.”

Jack hears himself saying and meaning that a few years ago. So he leaves.

\---

_Jack Zimmermann and Kent Parson Reconnect in Boston for Parson’s Birthday_

\---

It’s an anniversary of some milestone in Bob’s career; Jack can’t really remember which one, but he knows what time his dad will have a brief talk show appearance, and he tunes in. He hears a lot of answers he already knows, practiced half-truths and sincere-sounding thanks for his family, his friends, his fans.

The interviewer locks right in on the family comment.

“Your son has a lot to live up to.”

Bob’s signature smirk is visible, to those who know where to look. “My son has a college degree from an excellent university. Some might say I have a lot to live up to.”

“What do you think about him being in Boston, with the captain of another NHL team?”

“From what I understand, players on different teams are allowed to be friends. I could be wrong, though. I’ve been out of the game for quite some time.”

The reporter laughs awkwardly. “Yes, that is why we’re here, isn’t it?”

Jack knows his dad is just protecting him, but he still feels defensive. He can imagine his therapist hinting that he’s making everything about himself again, but this time it’s the interviewer’s fault.

\---

_Even while celebrating his own NHL anniversary, Bad Bob Zimmermann’s support of his son, Providence Falconers player Jack Zimmermann, shines through._

\---

Jack bites the bullet and flies to Vegas on his own birthday. He could have gone already, tried to talk to Kent on any of the days between, but the gesture is important to him.

He isn’t particularly shy, even less so when it comes to Kent, but something prevents him from letting him know at all in advance that he’s coming, so he ends up waiting outside his door again. Showing up with an overnight bag at someone’s house thousands of miles away when they’re really mad at you and pretty hurt by you, seems like a questionable decision. But nobody ever said Jack Zimmermann made the best choices.

This is probably why.

It’s pretty late in the afternoon, but Jack still knocks softly in an attempt to not disturb any of the neighbors, not because he’s hoping Kent won’t come to the door and he’ll be able to just go back home and accept that he spent his entire birthday flying back and forth across the country.

The door opens and Kent’s there in a tight t-shirt and a pair of jeans. Jack looks him up and down without really thinking about it.

“Um, surprise,” Jack announces, awkwardly.

Kent looks at his watch, and then back at Jack. “Is this some ‘turnabout is fair play’ shit?”

He still moves aside to let Jack in, though, and Jack takes his shoes off and drops his bag on the floor. “Basically,” he admits.

Kent rolls his eyes and gets Jack a glass of water and shoves it into his hand. “I have plans tonight, you know.”

“I can get a hotel room or something,” Jack replies. He sets the water down on a coaster and then realizes he’s pretty thirsty.

“It’s fine; I can cancel. Might as well do what you like on your birthday.” So Kent does know.

“I like going out just fine,” Jack says, which is technically true under ideal conditions. His birthday in Vegas might not be his first choice, but it ranks above sitting in Kent’s apartment again. Probably.

Kent shrugs. “Let it be known that I tried to warn you.”

They’re not talking about it. A fight so bad that Kent tried to leave by choice, and they’re pretending it didn’t happen. Jack hates it, but maybe it’s best to just try to build something new rather than fix the old.

He doesn’t really buy that.

But they still go out, and Jack tags along on the original plans after making sure, “You’re not going to a gay club, are you?”

Kent snorts. “Even if I were, I’d secretly cancel it while you’re here for your birthday. I know you’re paranoid.”

“You’re just reckless,” Jack shoots back automatically. It’s an old argument.

“Not tonight,” Kent promises.

They end up at a bar that’s pretty crowded and dark, and Kent’s friends mysteriously don’t show up. Jack keeps looking at him, knowing that he’s accurately conveying his suspicion, but Kent pretends not to notice. Of course Kent could cancel plans quickly and effectively, find a new place to go, and know exactly what kind of mood Jack was going for.

He comes back from the bar with two beers, which he announces were free when the bartender saw his ID. Kent promises he ignored that, and gave the guy enough money to keep him quiet at least until they leave.

Jack tries not to imagine the headlines he might see tomorrow.

There are only a few booths, but somehow one of them opens up as Kent walks over, and they sit down. Being out may feel more celebratory, but Kent knows Jack doesn’t really want to dance, just chat or people watch.

Jack looks at Kent and feels hot all of a sudden. “Don’t look at me like that,” he stammers.

Kent’s eyes widen. He doesn’t deny anything, like Jack expected, just says, “Sorry,” into his drink.

They can’t talk about anything serious in public. Jack thinks that might be why he wanted to go out, and he suddenly feels like a coward, wants to go back.

“Can we?” he starts.

“Yes,” Kent answers, standing up. It’s not exactly a Zimmermann-Parson no-look one-timer, but it’s better than an argument, or words meant to hurt. It’s a short ride back to Kent’s, and Jack remembers the last time he was here, the first time. They tried to talk; they keep trying, but it never works.

Jack thinks, be better.

Kent sits first this time and Jack sits next to him, closer than he has in years. He wants it to mean something, to cause flashbacks to terrible teenager parties and always ending up on the couch, Kent in Jack’s lap, a running joke for the team, an _if only they knew_ for Kent. He wants to bridge the gap.

“Can we talk about last time?” Jack asks when the silence is unbearable.

Kent leans away, enough that it’s easier to scan Jack’s face. “You actually want to do that?” he asks. “Who are you, and what have you done with Jack Zimmermann?”

“Very funny.” Jack rolls his eyes. “I just… I don’t like that you think I stopped talking to you because of anything that you did. I mean, yeah, sometimes you would do or say dumb things when you didn’t know any better. But that’s not why I ghosted you. It’s because being around you was a crutch for me. We played great hockey, and I wondered if I’d be as good without you. And I kept worrying that without you as a friend, or more, then I’d be more anxious. It turned out I was bad enough on my own, but then I realized I needed to be able to do all of it on my own. Hockey and life.”

“Well, shit, it does sound like you had a lot going on that I didn’t know about. I mean, I suspected that afterwards anyway.” Kent grumbles.

“You couldn’t have known,” Jack replied.

“But do you realize you never once asked me about how any of this affected me?” Kent asks in a small voice.

No, Jack really hadn’t realized until just now.

Kent didn’t let Jack speak up. “I paid so much attention to you. I didn’t notice all the shit you were dealing with, but I really wanted to. And that bothered me, and I had my own stuff going on, which I’m sure you know nothing about since you never asked, and our whole… thing focused on you.”

Jack puts his head in his hands, muffling his uttered, “Fuck,” enough that it was likely unintelligible. “You’re right,” he admits, though of course Kent knows that already. “I didn’t know how to focus on anyone else besides myself, and that really sucked for you. But you tried harder than I did.”

“Trying isn’t everything, obviously,” Kent remarks.

“No, but now that I’ve started feeling better, I can realize that I really appreciate it. Even when you weren’t respecting my wishes and you were pushing too hard, at least you were trying, because you cared about me.”

“ _Care_ about you,” Kent corrects, and Jack’s heart clenches. He wishes Kent hadn’t moved so far away, but he doesn’t know what he’d do differently, anyway. “It doesn’t matter. So many other people are always trying to get through to you. All your college buddies, and they actually succeeded.”

“I don’t think anyone has ever put as much effort into a relationship with me as you have.” That much is true. Effort isn’t everything, and to be honest Jack hasn’t always put much stock in it, but he’s starting to see the appeal. Now that he’s had more experience appreciating the journey and the end result, he’s starting to see his and Kent’s relationship more like his hockey career: full of ups and downs… and downs, and downs and downs, and then maybe some ups.

“I don’t understand you,” Kent whispers. “I didn’t back then, and I still don’t, not really.” At this, though, he moves back to his original place on the couch, casually, like he doesn’t mean to do it. But Jack still notices.

“I think you understood me too well--you always could get me where it hurt the most,” Jack says, watching as Kent’s face completely crumples. “That came out wrong. I just meant that… well, I don’t know what I meant. It shows you know me, more than it shows you wanted to hurt me.”

“But I _did_ want to hurt you. Or hurt you back. And I’m sorry.”

Jack groans. “I’m sorry too. We really didn’t know what we were doing.”

“I don’t think we do now,” Kent says.

Jack laughs, even though it isn’t really that funny. “You might be right.”

“For me it just felt like we should have worked out so well but we just… missed.”

Biting his lip, Jack considers this. It’s true enough; they were in the same stage of their career, even though they had different family backgrounds. They both definitely had their own issues, things that hockey was helping them work through, even if Jack would argue that Kent was probably doing that more healthily than Jack was. “Maybe we were just too early,” he answers, agreeing. “I wasn’t ready for you or the life you wanted back then. I am now, but I can’t expect that you’ve been waiting this whole time.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? Why else do you think I kept visiting you, why do you think I let you in today? I couldn’t help but wait for you. There was no way I could make myself stop.” Kent starts gesturing with his hands and Jack watches the movements, sees the increased franticness in Kent’s expression.

“Oh,” Jack says, dumbstruck. Obviously Kent still cares about him in some way, but it’s hard to believe that he wants to just pick up where they left off, except better. Maybe because Jack can still feel some of the pain from their past, or because he didn’t always want this with Kent. But he does now, and that’s even more surprising.

The gap between them is small, but it feels uncrossable. Jack looks at Kent, wondering if he has the strength that Jack doesn’t.

He does, of course he does. He leans across the gap that now seems minuscule, stops a few inches from Jack’s face. “You have to tell me this is what you want,” he whispers. Jack can feel the warmth coming from his skin.

“Yes,” he says, “Please.”

Kent doesn’t just close the gap, he pulls back and swings his leg around so he has one knee on each side of Jack’s hips, his hands on his shoulders as he looks down at him.

Anticipation thrums through Jack’s veins, but Kent doesn’t make him wait long, leaning down and bringing their mouths together. It’s familiar, but it’s immediately different from before, more careful and less frantic. It still feels full of passion, but it might have been just in Jack’s head except for the noises that Kent’s making. They go straight to Jack’s dick, which had already started hardening during their earlier conversation, despite Jack’s discomfort.

It’s clear that Kent notices when he tightens his grip with the hands that have ended up in Jack’s hair and grinds down, moving his hips in a way Jack doesn’t remember at all. It reminds him how long it’s been, how much has happened between then and now, but Jack has been with other people, too, so he pushes the slight jealousy out of his mind.

Jack doesn’t want to let go, mutters it into Kent’s ear as he kisses Jack’s neck, and they stay suffocatingly close until Jack comes embarrassingly quickly. Kent huffs out a laugh even as he follows soon after.

It feels like they’re teenagers again, except without all of the baggage that had dragged them down back then.

And Kent has a look on his face that Jack hasn’t seen before, so he asks about it.

Kent goes red, and Jack’s pretty proud of himself for having picked up on something. “I just never thought this would happen again,” he says.

It’s not enough to convince Jack, though, so he puts his hands on Kent’s hips to keep him a little bit further away as they stare each other down.

“Compared to being with you, becoming captain of a Stanley Cup-winning hockey team was easy,” Kent explains. “Getting here is the fucking hardest--heh--thing I’ve ever done. And the best. That’s all.” He says it quickly, like he might be able to get it past Jack if he mumbles it enough. It doesn’t work; Jack hears it loud and clear.

The guilt at hearing this is overpowered by a strange sense of pride that they really did manage to find themselves here, and a sense that maybe they were doing the right thing. It is going to be hard, Kent is right, nothing could be as difficult as what they went through to get to this point in the first place.

Jack kisses him again, can’t help it.

“Come to Montreal with me tomorrow,” he says when he pulls back for just a second.

“Meeting the parents already?” Kent jokes, like he doesn’t have Jack’s parents under his favorite contacts.

“I’m pretty serious,” Jack replies, his tone betraying the fact that that he isn’t joking at all.

“Me too,” Kent replies. He moves enough to be back to sitting next to Jack, though he leans all over him like he always has. Jack doesn’t mind at all.

\---

_Jack Zimmermann celebrates birthday in Las Vegas with Kent Parson--Could the Longtime Rivals be Friends Again? Will we see them together on the rink?_

\---

Kent fits in weirdly well in the Montreal area for an American. Jack has noticed that he seems natural in Vegas and Boston, even in Providence, but he thought maybe Kent was just all-American. It’s not that, it’s that he has an ability Jack has never developed, to pull out the parts of his personality that work somewhere and push down the rest.

He fits in well with Jack’s parents, too, but all it took for that was for Jack to admit that the problems in their relationship had been very equally both their faults.

They stay long enough that it starts to get domestic, that they get constantly compared to Bob and Alicia, in that they fight way more like a married couple. Jack thinks they just fight in general, but mostly it’s just dumb arguments, in this little bubble where they don’t have to worry about the real world, the stuff that ruined them, individually and together. Things that Kent was always better at dealing with, though Jack learned eventually.

They’re washing the sheets for the third time in a week, but this time they’re folding them and putting on new ones to change it up. Jack struggles with the fitted sheet until Kent grabs it and suddenly it’s perfectly sized to be stacked with the rest of the sheets in the closet.

“OK, how?” Jack asks finally.

“Hey, everyone has their domestic skill. Maybe you should cook,” Kent jokes.

Thinking about Bitty has mostly stopped hurting, reminding him of his own failure. “I’ll work on that,” he says, instead of getting into it, instead of clamming up or fighting back.

“Let’s get outside before the sun goes down,” Kent insists. Jack doesn’t know what they need daylight for, but he follows anyway. **  
**

**Author's Note:**

> You actually can sometimes get next day flights directly to Providence from big airports. Don’t let me ruin your dreams.
> 
> Just for fun, I’ll admit this. It may not seem like it, but I LOVE Eric Bittle. But the only thing I like about Zimbits is that it’s Bitty getting what he wants, and I love him enough that I want that to happen. There are a lot of things I don’t like about their relationship, and I’ve never even read (what I consider to be) a fic that addresses those things and then has them moving forward. (I keep trying to do it and accidentally writing OT3.)
> 
> ANYWAY. Please follow me on tumblr at [loveandallthat](http://loveandallthat.tumblr.com/) especially if you’re a JackParse fan, because I need more of it in my life. Message me, nag me, talk about it, demand that I follow you back, etc. Let me drown in JackParse and NurseyDex and rarepairs.


End file.
